


melt you down

by tatoeba



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff with a little Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatoeba/pseuds/tatoeba
Summary: Yixing doesn’t expect his new neighbor to be the same man who had stopped by the ice cream shop the night before, the man with the big gummy smile that still lingers bright in his mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is a repost. due to livejournal's recent TOS update, i've been slowly transferring my old fic over to ao3. most have been imported so they're backdated, but fics that were in 2 or more posts on lj i'm just gonna repost completely new like this instead.

The small ice cream parlor rarely gets traffic late at night when the chill of the winter settles into the air, but Yixing doesn’t mind the dullness, wiping down counters and tables and singing along to the music that plays from the speakers overhead. His coworker and friend, Jongin, complains about it though, so much that Yixing just laughs and pushes him out of the door, says he’ll cover for him if their manager asks.

“I owe you one,” Jongin says, pulling a furry cap over his head and slinging a backpack over his shoulders. He’s been working on calculus problems in-between serving out cups of Bohemian Raspberry and chocolate-peanut butter swirl on waffle cones.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yixing says, waving him off, and Jongin grins as he heads out the door. He waves to Yixing through the window as he passes by, and then he’s gone, and Yixing is left alone in an empty shop with only the cheerful drones of Girl’s Generation’s Gee playing in the background.

He heads to the back closet to grab a broom when he hears the door open, thinking it’s just probably Jongin having forgotten his cell phone again, laughs as he walks out and says, “What did you leave behind this--Oh, hi!” He feels a slight blush rise high in his cheeks at the newcomer, a tall, blonde-haired man who looks a little out of place, glancing around the shop like he’s never been to an ice cream store before.

His gaze falls onto Yixing, who quickly rests the broom in his hand against the nearest wall and walks up behind the counter. “Hello,” he says jovially, “what can I get you tonight?”

The man blinks at him, seemingly offput by the brightness of Yixing’s voice, and then glances up at the menu boards behind Yixing’s head. He stares for a long moment, and Yixing taps his fingers along the countertop, says, “It’s okay, take your time,” and the man looks sharply back down at Yixing like he’d just insulted him. But then he laughs, and it’s a big, gummy, sort of embarrassed sound, and he hides his mouth behind a large hand, and Yixing realizes he’s probably much younger than he looks, dressed in a dark suit that’s slightly wrinkled around the sides, the buttons on his white shirt undone at the top.

“Sorry,” the man says in a low voice, “I’ve just never been here before.”

Yixing smiles. “Why didn’t you say so?” he questions. “I can tell you everything here that’s worth trying.”

The man gives him a curious look, but then nods. “Please do,” he says and his smile is soft and makes Yixing’s heart shudder inexplicably.

Yixing waves him over to the left where they’ve got around ten tubs of ice cream set out, a few of them now down to their last few scoops after a long day. “I’m fond of the Red Velvet Cake, though our new one, Chocolate Therapy, is really great, too.” He grabs one of the small testing spoons and dips it into the chocolate tub, holds it out for the customer, who looks at it for a moment before trying it out.

He grins around the spoon and nods. “I like it,” he replies. “What else have you got?”

Yixing offers him scoops of a few other flavors, laughing at the faces the man makes as he tests them. In the end Yixing gets him a pint of Chocolate Therapy, and another of Boston Cream Pie and rings them up, sliding the pints into a small brown bag and exchanging it for the cash he hands over.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Yixing says, handing over his change with a smile.

“Thanks for your help,” the man says and he lifts a hand up in a wave as he walks out the door, and Yixing stares after him long after he’s disappeared from view.

And later, after he’s had a few more stragglers stop by for a quick ice cream fix before the night ends, and he’s cleaned up and locked up, wrapping a thick red scarf around his neck and heading home, Yixing can’t quite shake the memory of the man with that big smile out of his head.

The apartment next to Yixing’s on the third floor of his building has been vacant for over a month, but the next morning Yixing wakes to the sounds of someone walking in and out of the door, and a slight hammering against the wall, like someone is putting up a picture frame.

The last tenant had been an elderly woman who would invite Yixing over for tea and snacks Saturday afternoons when he returned from a morning shift at the ice cream shop. She was soft and kind and told him stories about her grandchildren and Yixing would sometimes talk to her for hours. She reminded him of his grandmother in Changsha, whom he hasn’t seen in a few years, and so when she passed away, Yixing felt as though a little piece of him had gone with her.

He’s happy to learn that there seems to be someone new moving in, because Yixing likes people and he likes meeting new people, so he drags himself out of bed to shower and dress, and maybe stop by to say hi before heading off to work.

He doesn’t expect his new neighbor to be the man he saw the night before, whose smiling face hadn’t quite yet escaped his mind, to be the one to answer the door.

“Wow,” he says, blinking in surprise. “It really is a small world.”

The man stares at him for a long, long moment, and then Yixing sees the realization fill his eyes. “You’re from the ice cream place,” he says slowly.

Yixing nods. “I’m also your neighbor,” he says and smiles brightly. “Zhang Yixing, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, have a good day!” Yixing says, handing over a small cup of Cherry Mania to a young schoolgirl who takes it one handed, her eyes glued to the screen of her phone. Yixing shakes his head as she walks away, turns away to clean up the mess of toppings Jongin had made earlier in his haste to get cones for three screaming kids and their frazzled looking mother.

“Hi,” a familiar voice says, before Yixing can get much done, and he looks up in surprise to find the man he’d met the night before, his new neighbor, standing on the other side of the counter a nervous smile on his face.

“Yifan,” Yixing says, remembering the name the man had told him that morning easily. “You...You actually came by.” He’d told Yifan to stop by the shop that day if he had the time, but now he’s having trouble wondering why he even did such a thing.

“You said I could,” Yifan replies simply, shrugs, and he fiddles with the neck of his tie. He’s wearing a suit like he did last night, and he’s holding a sleek black briefcase in his right hand.

“Did you just get off work?” Yixing asks, and Yifan nods. Yixing glances at the watch on his wrist, and smiles at Yifan, reaching around his back to untie the knots of the work apron they make him wear. “Hey, Jongin, I’m taking my break,” he says as he passes Jongin by, patting him on the shoulder, and Jongin glances over at Yifan and then back at Yixing who pretends not to notice the smirk that’s tugging at the side of his lips.

Yixing leads Yifan to a table by the window. “I wasn’t really expecting you to show up,” Yixing says, chuckling.

“I don’t really know many people here,” Yifan admits, runs a hand through his blonde hair. The roots are showing dark like he hasn’t dyed it in awhile. “I moved for work, so I’m still getting used to everything.”

“What do you do?” Yixing asks, curious, and he leans forward on his elbows upon the table between them.

Yifan looks a little taken aback but Yixing’s interest, but he relaxes after a moment and leans back against his chair. “I work in sales for a travel company,” he says. “I visit different hotels in the area and work with their marketing to help promote them through our company.” He smiles at Yixing’s spaced-out look. “It’s pretty boring stuff.”

Yixing shakes his head quickly. “No, that sounds really cool,” he says enthusiastically. “So you get to travel a lot?”

Yifan nods. “Yeah, when I’m lucky. I just came back from a week in Vancouver. Canada,” he adds when Yixing tilts his head to the side. “And then I find out they want me to move to Seoul to work at the Korea branch; our company is based in Beijing.” He sighs and slumps slightly in his seat, before quickly straightening back up and Yixing wonders if he’s always so straight-laced. “I had to pack up everything in a weekend, all on top of jetlag and lack of sleep.”

“That’s still so exciting,” Yixing says cheerfully. “Getting to go different places! I’d love to do that.”

Yifan chuckles. “Maybe I’ll take you with me next time,” he teases, but Yixing laughs, bounces up in his chair and points a finger at Yifan’s face.

“I’m holding you to that,” he replies seriously, and Yifan laughs the same kind of big laugh Yixing had seen the night before.

“I’m glad I met you,” Yifan says when his amusement has died down, but there’s still the shining mirth in his soft eyes, and Yixing beams.

There's hammering on the walls at three in the morning that wakes Yixing up with a headache. He rolls around in bed for awhile but can't fall back asleep and decides that if hes gonna get awake, then he might as well do something.

He doesn't exactly plan to make two steaming mugs of cinnamon tea and head next door, but somehow he's there on the doorstep looks up at a disheveled Yifan who blinks at him.

"I brought tea," Yixing says, and tucks under Yifan’s outstretched arm that holds the door open for him and into his apartment. There are boxes everywhere, most of them ripped open while the rest are still taped shut. A large leather couch sits against the wall, facing an entertainment console that’s missing its television and DVD player. The glass coffee table is stacked with travel books and magazines.

Yixing turns back to Yifan who is slowly closing the door, smiles at the way he’s got his hair tied back up in a lopsided ponytail. “Here,” he says, holding out a mug. “I figured if you were going to keep me awake by hammering on the walls, the least I could do was give you some tea.”

Yifan’s eyes grow a little wide, pausing with the rim of the mug against his lips. “I’m so sorry,” he says, “I was trying to keep it down, I really didn’t think you’d--”

“It’s okay,” Yixing says, brushing it off with a wave of his hand, and he laughs as the too-long sleeve of his oversized shirt flops over his fingers. He tugs his shirt back up and spins on his heel, walking further into the apartment. He sets his mug down on the coffee table and flops himself in front of an open box. “Do you want help?”

“I can’t make you do that, it’s three in the morning,” Yifan says, shaking his head.

“You’re awake.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well, now I can’t, either, and wouldn’t unpacking be more fun with someone helping you out?” Yixing asks, smiling up at him.

Yifan stares at Yixing like he’s never seen anyone quite like him before in his life, but then chuckles, shaking his head. “I guess you’re right,” he says, and joins Yixing on the floor, pulling another opened box before his crossed legs. “This is really good,” he adds after a moment, sipping at his drink, and Yixing grins.

“You’re welcome,” he says cheekily, and Yifan laughs, gently nudging him in the ribs with his elbow, and Yixing laughs, too. He opens up the box in front of him and says, “So! Let’s see what kind of dirty secrets you have stashed away in these boxes.”

“Ah, so that’s why you wanted to help unpack,” Yifan says, and there’s amusement bright in his eyes. “The truth comes out.”

Yixing pulls a small 5 x 7” picture frame from the box, filled with an image of Yifan who is unmistakable with his blonde hair, and another tall boy with a silly looking smile and dyed orange hair. He sets it up onto the coffee table beside his mug. “It’s my right to know if my new neighbor is a serial killer or not.”

Yifan makes a small noise in the back of his throat and takes another drink of his tea, and he looks at Yixing a little contemplatively. “Don’t worry,” he says finally. “I won’t murder you after you brought me tea.”

“Oh, good,” Yixing replies, and he taps his own mug against Yifan’s with a smile before bringing it up to his lips.

“Hey,” Yifan says, standing just outside Yixing’s door. “I ran out of eggs, I was wondering if maybe you had one I could take?”

Yixing laughs, holds open his door and lets Yifan into the apartment. “Sure,” he says. “Were you making something?”

“French toast,” Yifan replies, and he stands awkwardly in the doorway as Yixing pads back into the apartment. He stops and blinks at Yifan, laughs again and waves him inside. Yifan gives a small smile and slips out of his shoes to follow Yixing into the kitchen. “I hope I wasn’t bothering you.”

“Not at all,” Yixing says. “I was just practicing.”

Yifan stops at the counter, leaning against it as Yixing rifles through the fridge for eggs. “Practicing?”

“Guitar,” Yixing says, pulling back triumphantly with an egg in hand. He hands it over to Yifan, ignores the slight tingling feeling that runs up his veins when their fingers touch. He points to the couch where he’s left his acoustic guitar, and Yifan glances at it for a moment before turning back.

“I didn’t know you played.”

“You don’t know a lot about me,” Yixing says, smiling wide. “Yet.”

Yifan smiles back. “Were you working on something in particular?”

Yixing leans against the counter beside Yifan, his arm brushing up against Yifan’s left, and from here, looking up at him, Yifan is so very tall. “I give guitar and piano lessons to kids during the week, whenever I'm not at the ice cream shop," Yixing says. "One of my kids cancelled tonight so I was working on a song I've been writing lately."

"That’s...that's really cool," Yifan says, looking at Yixing in curious interest. "I guess I always just figured you-"

"Worked at the ice cream shop?" Yixing says, shakes his head with a chuckle. "I love that place but it's not exactly the best job in the world."

Yifan nods, and there’s a bit of understanding in his eyes. Yixing wonders if maybe Yifan’s job is much the same, but he doesn’t dare ask, not yet. "You should let me hear it sometime...the song you're writing," Yifan says, suddenly, and he ducks his head a bit in embarrassment as if he only just realized what he said. "I mean, if you want or--"

"When I finish it, maybe I will," Yixing says with a smirk. "If you treat me to French toast sometime in return.”

"It's a deal,” Yifan says with a laugh that rings in Yixing’s ears long after he’s left.

“Oh, no, look what the cat dragged in,” Yixing says, grinning widely as his friends Lu Han, Zitao and Minseok walk into the shop, shaking wet snow-drizzled hair from their faces and rubbing hands together to warm them up.

“Very funny,” Lu Han says, swatting at Yixing over the counter with the end of his giant multi-colored scarf, and Yixing ducks backward with a laugh while Minseok rolls his eyes at the two of them, perpetually used to their antics. There’s a tall boy Yixing’s never met before standing close to Zitao, looking around the place curiously, and he lights up when Jongin appears beside Yixing, waving at everyone.

“Hey guys,” he says, and introduces the new face to Yixing as Sehun, a friend who’s in a few classes with him and Zitao.

“So was it Lu Han’s brilliant idea to come to an ice cream shop in the middle of a blizzard?” Yixing asks. It’s been an incredibly slow day, and Yixing’s spent most of his shift singing to songs loudly on the radio with Jongin who came over an hour ago after his evening class ended.

“No, it was Jongin’s,” Lu Han says, and there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, and Yixing catches the way Jongin seems to be pleading with him to not spill a secret. Yixing blinks at them, and Lu Han continues, “He said if we stopped by around this time we’d see something interesting.”

Yixing furrows his brows, looks at Jongin who is glaring at Lu Han. “See what?”

“Your boyfriend,” Zitao says, amused. “Jongin says he comes by everyday around this time.”

“But I don’t have a boyfriend?” Yixing says, confused, and Jongin finally stops glaring at Lu Han to give Yixing an incredulous look.

“Hello? The tall, blonde guy that comes by everyday when he’s off of work to come get you so you can walk home together?” Jongin says slowly like Yixing is an idiot, and Yixing stares at him for a few long moments before opening his mouth in an, “ _Oh_.”

Then he laughs. “Yifan is not my boyfriend. He’s my new neighbor.” All of his friends give Yixing a skeptical look. Even Sehun, whom Yixing doesn't even know yet, looks disbelievingly at him. “I’m serious!” he insists. “We’re just neighbors. I don’t even know if we’re really _friends_.”

“Stop lying,” Jongin says, bumping his shoulder against Yixing’s. “You talk about him all the time, and he comes to pick you up everyday!”

“He walks by here anyway to get home!”

“Excuses,” Minseok says, and Yixing shakes his head.

“You guys are making a big deal out of nothing,” he says. He mock-glares at his friends and points a finger around at all of them. “Now order something or I’m obligated to kick you out. Only paying customers can hide in here.”

“There’s no rule like that,” Lu Han protests, but gives up as Zitao and Sehun cut before him and give Jongin their orders. He sighs and says to Yixing, “Just get me my favorite.”

“Sure,” Yixing says with a smile, then turns to Minseok. “What about you?”

It’s that slow of an evening that after Yixing and Jongin get everyone their orders, they join them by pulling two tables together by the window. Yixing hasn’t seen them in awhile; Lu Han busy with his evening language classes and his job at the music store two blocks over, Minseok with long work hours at his stuffy office, and Zitao with school, and they end up chatting about everything and anything they’ve missed lately, all while Jongin and Lu Han toss in questions about Yifan that Yixing easily dodges with a pleasant smile.

The thing is that Jongin is right, and Yifan _does_ stop by the shop after work almost everyday so the two of them can head home together. It wasn’t really anything they planned, but just happened to do once the week before and then slowly became routine. Yixing likes it, though, because well, he likes Yifan, who is kind and intriguing. But it isn’t anything more than that.

Of course when Yifan does show up ten minutes before Yixing’s shift ends like he usually does, Jongin nudges Lu Han hard in the ribs and nods toward the door, and the rest of them all fail at discreetly looking over curiously. Yifan scans the shop before he seems to notice Yixing sitting at a table, and Jongin and Lu Han quickly look away, turning to each other to mutter something and Yixing sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Could you two be anymore obvious?” he whispers as he stands and waves to Yifan who walks over curiously.

“Working hard, I see,” Yifan comments with a smile, glancing over at Yixing’s friends.

“Ignore them, they’re nobody,” Yixing replies and snickers at Lu Han’s outraged yelp, which turns into an aching moan as Minseok kicks him under the table.

"If you say so," Yifan says, looking mighty amused, and Yixing nods enthusiastically, taking Yifan's wrist and steering him away.

"I really do," he says. "Let me get my things and we can go." He turns back to the table, pretends not to notice the way everyone drops their gazes, and asks, "Jongin, you can lock up tonight, right?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," he says, waves a hand in the air lightly.

"Thanks," Yixing says, and he stops in the back room to grab his coat, wrapping his scarf around his neck and waving goodbye to the others before leading the way out, Yifan following after.

They settle into a slow comfortable walk side by side, and Yixing shoves his hands into his pockets to hide from the cold, wishing he would remember to buy himself some gloves.

"Were those your friends?" Yifan asks after a long stretch of easy silence, the only sounds belonging to the cars driving past, tires slushing against wet snow.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yixing replies, and then laughs. “No, I mean, they’re great, but occasionally a little obnoxious.”

Yifan nods knowingly. “I understand,” he says.

“Next time I’ll introduce you,” Yixing says brightly. “If I did today, they might’ve scared you away.”

“I doubt that,” Yifan says with a snort. “Nothing scares me.”

Yixing hums in amusement, bumps into Yifan’s side and laughs as Yifan almost trips over his own feet and into the street. He grabs his hand and yanks him back quickly, and Yifan’s eyes are big in surprise. “I bet you were just scared of that.”

“Because you almost _killed_ me,” Yifan retorts, but then he’s smiling, and Yixing’s hand feels so very warm in Yifan’s, and he doesn’t want to pull away.

He does, though, with a laugh, and shoves his hand back into his pocket. The rest of the way back to their apartment is spent quietly, but Yixing doesn’t mind, and he’s glad that Yifan doesn’t find it necessary to fill space with conversation. They haven’t known each other for very long yet, but Yixing really likes that about Yifan, likes how easily the two of them seem to fall together.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yixing says when they make it up to their floor. He twirls his keyring around a finger and quickly catches it when it almost drops to the floor.

“Actually, I’m traveling again for the next few days, going to Busan to work with some properties down there,” Yifan says, scratches the back of his neck.

“In that case, nevermind," Yixing says with a laugh, but suddenly stops as a thought occurs to him. "Your phone. Can I see?"

Perplexed, Yifan nods and pulls it out from his pocket, sets it onto Yixing's open palm. Yixing smiles and quickly programs his number in. He calls his own phone and saves Yifan's information into his contacts list, and hands Yifan’s phone back.

"There. So in case you miss me, you can call."

"Who said I would miss you?" Wu Fab questions, but he's staring down at Yixing's number with a tiny smile sneaking onto his face and Yixing pats his shoulder.

"You will," he says, and turns to head into his apartment.

_Miss me yet_ , Yixing sends to Yifan the next afternoon as he finishes up a guitar lesson and heads off to the next one for the day.

_I think you’re the one who misses me._

Yixing doesn’t see his reply until he’s back home in the evening, checking through emails and missed calls. He smiles at the message, and sends back, _Never. :P_ , and tries not to think about how he's pretty sure that's a lie.

And as the days go on, Yixing thinks he may have gotten a little too used to Yifan's presence that suddenly the days when he's gone seem dull in comparison. He knows Yifan is working so Yixing tries not to message him too often, but he keeps his phone close by in case Yifan writes him.

He's working a night shift on a lonely Saturday when Yifan walks into the shop, hands tucked into the front pockets of his thick black coat, half of his face obscured by a blue scarf.  
"Hi," Yifan says, pulling down his scarf enough to speak.

"You're back!" Yixing says and he fights down the flush that tries to fill his cheeks, hopes Yifan doesn't sense his happiness, and ignores the tiny voice in his head that questions why he's so happy in the first place.

Yifan just smiles, and it's the kind that Yixing has really grown to like, the one that seems the most completely _Yifan_ , lighting up his eyes and making Yixing's heart glow in warmth.

"See," Yifan says, "I knew you missed me."

When Yixing can’t sleep some nights, he sits out on the small balcony and strums his guitar. It’s cold out at one in the morning, but he wraps his red scarf around his neck and throws on a sweater, and curls up on the floor, resting back against the sliding glass door. He’s quiet, mostly plucking aimlessly at the strings, eyes close as he whispers words of a nameless song under his breath, and lets his mind wander to its fullest.

He doesn’t realize he’s even being watched until he finishes playing out the chords in his head, and his fingers fall lax against the strings, and a familiar voice cuts through the crisp winter air.

“That was really nice,” Yifan says, and Yixing turns to find him standing out on his own balcony. He’s wearing a thick white sweater and dark-rimmed glasses, and his hair resembles something like a bird’s nest atop his head. Yixing smiles.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Yixing says.

Yifan shakes his head. “I was still awake. Working.”

“At this hour?”

“Says the guys playing his guitar out on the balcony.”

Yixing’s smile widens. “Touche,” he says and Yifan’s laugh sounds so very nice in the still, silent night.

Yixing turns away and closes his eyes again, focuses on the stream of darkness and color behind his eyelids. He starts playing again, quietly, fingers pulling at the strings and shifting into chord after chord after chord.

"You're really good," he hears Yifan say, and he smiles, sliding into a major C chord, and up to an E.

Yixing just laughs. "If you say so," he replies, because Yixing isn't even playing something tangible, just putting his feelings and thoughts into light notes and chords. Things about tea at three AM and the sweet chill of mint ice cream and blue scarves.

"I do," Yifan replies softly and that's a bit like music to Yixing ears.

It snows over the weekend, light and glittery and coating the ground in cascades of white. Lu Han calls Yixing in the afternoon when he's trying to decide what new piano piece to give to his student the next morning and yells at him to come out because he's got Minseok and Zitao and they're going to play soccer at the empty park near his house.

"Bring Yifan along, too!" Lu Han says and hangs up before Yixing even gets a word in. He laughs, and shoves his phone into his pocket, goes to quickly grab his coat and scarf, tugging on black boots before he knocks on Yifan's door.

Yifan answers with a smile that slowly grows nervous as he takes in Yixing's delighted expression.

"Are you busy right now?" he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"No...why?" Yifan asks and Yixing grins.

"Better go grab your coat, it’s cold outside!" Yixing says.

As they head down the streets, after Yixing had successfully coaxed Yifan into a coat and wrapped his blue scarf around his neck, Yifan says, "You've got to be kidding. Who plays soccer in the snow?"

"It's just fun!" Yixing says. "And besides it’s nice to be out when its snowing. It's so very pretty." He stretches his arms out, tilting his head up toward the grey sky, and his footing catches on a patch of ice along the street. But just before he thinks he’s going to hit the pavement, there's a warm arm spinning around his waist and pulling him back into an even warmer body.

"Careful," Yifan breathes into his ear, and Yixing suddenly feels hot all over, like he could melt the snow if he laid in it right now.

"Thanks," he says and quickly steps away, willing his heartrate to dwindle down. He rubs his hands together and shoves them into his pockets and smiles.

Lu Han and Minseok are already playing when they make it to the park, fluffs of powdery snow flying in the air as they kick the ball around. Yixing sees Zitao with Jongin and Sehun by a bench, watching and cheering them on, and Jongin waves when he sees Yixing and Yifan, and the smirk that crosses makes Yixing roll his eyes.

“So are you actually going to introduce us to your friend this time?” Jongin asks when they approach. “Or are you going to keep him all to yourself?”

“Well, if he doesn’t mind, maybe I will,” Yixing replies with a laugh, glancing up at Yifan who looks amused.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Yifan says, almost so quietly that it takes a moment for Yixing to realize what he’s said, and when he does, his eyes widen and his heart misses a beat. But then Yifan is laughing, too, and introduces himself to the others, Lu Han and Minseok finally joining them as well.

“It’d be so much better if we had a few more people,” Lu Han laments, kicking the ball between his feet and then passing to Yixing, who barely even notices the ball rolling against his feet. Yifan laughs at his side and kicks it back for him. “We’d have nice even teams then. I called Kyungsoo earlier and he said he’d be here after his shift at the shop let up.”

“Does that really matter?” Jongin complains, and Lu Han kicks the ball upward toward his head, grinning snidely when Jongin falls into Minseok as he ducks away.

“Yes!” he exclaims and Yixing shakes his head, lips twitching in amusement, and turns to Yifan when he speaks up suddenly, “Actually I have a friend or two that might be interested. I can call them?”

Lu Han nods enthusiastically so Yifan steps aside, digging his phone from his pocket to call, and Yixing’s eyes follow him, staring at his back as he talks. Lu Han bumps against his shoulder and the look on his face is highly suggestive, and Yixing’s known Lu Han long enough to know exactly what’s going through his mind right now. He bumps him back and says, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“He’s nice,” Lu Han comments unnecessarily. “You guys look good together.”

“Shut up, it’s not like that,” Yixing says and is thankful that he can blame the flush in his cheeks to the cold. Lu Han just continues to give him an shit-eating grin and Yixing pokes him in the side, making Lu Han yelp and fight back.

Yixing laughs as he tries to flee from Lu Han’s antics, and suddenly finds himself bumping back into something - or someone, he realizes, as a familiar touch holds him steady at the waist. He looks up at Yifan who stares at him with bright eyes, and Yixing clears his throat and moves away. He ignores Lu Han’s smug look and asks, “So?”

“They’ll be here in a bit,” Yifan says and Lu Han cheers loudly, pumping a fist in the air. He turns and grabs Minseok by the elbow, ball tucked under his arm, and drags him off to play again. Zitao pulls Sehun with him to join them, while Jongin looks on from the bench, lounging back and yawning as he tugs his beanie cap down a little further over his ears.

It doesn't take very long for Yifan's friends to arrive, and Yixing recognizes one of the four from a photo in Yifan's apartment, tall like Yifan with a really bright smile. The other three are much smaller, looking around with curious eyes and tiny smiles. One of them has on a bright green hat, much like the pink one Yixing saw Zitao wearing, before he’d pushed it down onto Sehun’s head instead.

“These are a few friends, and colleagues, of mine,” Yifan says, introducing the tall one as Chanyeol, and the one in the green hat as Jongdae. Baekhyun and Junmyeon make up the other two, the former grinning widely while Junmyeon gives Yixing a kind smile before they both amble off to where Lu Han is chasing Sehun and Zitao around, the two of them tossing the soccer ball back and forth around him.

“Thanks for coming,” Yixing says, and adds, ”I’m Yifan’s neighbor Yixing--”

“Oh!” Chanyeol and Jongdae exclaim simultaneously, staring at him with mouths open and realization filling their eyes. Yixing blinks, slightly uncomfortable, and Chanyeol continues, “You’re Yixing! You’re the one Yifan never shuts up about!”

“Um,” Yixing says, eyes sliding askance to Yifan who is rubbing the back of his neck and staring resolutely at his shoes. Yixing slowly smirks and turns back to his friends. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Jongdae replies, and he’s giving Yixing a slow once over like he’s assessing him and trying to make sense of why Yifan constantly talks about him. “It’s kinda annoying, really.”

“You should’ve seen him when we were in Busan for work the other week,” Chanyeol says excitedly, and he ignores the way Yifan elbows him to make him stop. “He just kept looking at his phone to see if you’d messaged him like all the time.”

Something in Yixing’s stomach flutters at that, and he looks up at Yifan who is still not looking at him, instead muttering death threats to his friends. “Well,” Yixing says softly, scratching the side of his face. “I may have done the same thing.”

That makes Yifan look at him, eyes wide in surprise, but Yixing just smiles a little wider before turning away. “Come on,” he says. “We’re here to play, right?”

“Right!” Lu Han shouts from the field, waving at them to join, and Sehun goes to pull Jongin up from the bench, wrapping an arm around his waist and whispering in his ear.

They split up into two teams of five and six, Lu Han and Minseok the captains as they play much more regularly than anyone else, and even under their direction it’s more like a group of boys running around in the snow than really a game of soccer. Yixing has a good time anyway, chasing after Yifan who’s on Minseok’s team, and stealing the ball out from his feet almost every time.

“You’ve got to stop that,” Yifan complains, frustrated, but he’s laughing big and bright, and it makes Yixing’s heart flutter.

“It’s not my fault you can’t play,” Yixing retorts, and runs to the side, laughing as he dodges Jongdae and Zitao and tries to get free so Jongin can pass him the ball. He does in the next second, the ball rolling to Yixing's feet, and he’s about to kick toward Lu Han who is frantically waving his arms in the air and fending off Sehun. But Yifan is there before Yixing can pass, tall frame successfully blocking Yixing’s path, and Yixing furrows his brows up at him while Yifan just looks amused.

“Just knock him over!” Jongdae says from the side, and Yifan turns to him and shouts, “Hey, who’s team are you on?”

Yixing uses his distraction to shove past Yifan, just quick enough to kick the ball away before Yifan throws a leg out to stop him, but in the process Yixing trips, colliding right into Yifan and sending them both to the snowy ground. Yixing groans, Yifan’s weight atop him crushing his elbow into his side, while the wet snow slinks up his back where his jacket has bunched up. He peers his eyes open and it’s like his heart has stopped in his chest, eyes finding Yifan’s instantly, just mere inches from his face, so close that Yixing thinks he could count his eyelashes. Heat blossoms in his cheeks, Yifan staring down at him unfathomably, and his gaze flickers down to Yixing’s mouth and suddenly it’s like reality has slammed back into him, and Yifan moves away quickly, scrambling up to his feet.

“Man, when I said to knock him over I didn’t really mean it,” Jongdae says, appearing beside Yifan and looking between the two of them with a large, amused grin. He holds a hand out for Yixing who takes it and stands, brushes snow off his coat.

“Sorry,” Yixing says to Yifan, who won’t quite meet him in the eye. “Are you okay?”

“Yifan should apologize for crushing you with his giant body,” Chanyeol says as he joins them and he’s got snow all over his hair like he just landed head first into a pile of it, but he seems unconcerned. He laughs when Yifan glowers at him, but then Yifan turns to Yixing and says, finally meeting Yixing’s eyes, “I’m fine. Are you?”

Yixing nods cheerfully. “Just cold,” he chuckles, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them for warmth.

“That’s because you never wear gloves,” Yifan says, staring at his hands, and there’s a look in his eyes there as he reaches out for Yixing’s hand, only to quickly pull it back and push it into his pocket, and it’s like maybe he wanted to reach out and take Yixing’s hands in his and warm them up himself, but he doesn’t do anything of the sort and Yixing isn’t sure if it’s disappointment that coils around deep in his belly.

He just smiles and puts his hands into his pockets. “I never remember to buy them,” he says and Yifan just shakes his head, and the smile he gives Yixing then is soft and fond and, despite the cold, Yixing feels warm all over.

Yifan goes out of town for a whole week, back to Beijing for a “very important company meeting”, he explains to Yixing the night before, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know why they want me back there when they had me transferred here,” he says, looking irritated as he folds clothes into his travel bag and Yixing watches him from where he’s lying across Yifan’s large bed. He occasionally reaches in and unfolds shirts and sweaters, just to see the way it increasingly makes a vein in Yifan’s neck stand out, annoyance building up until he dumps his entire suitcase full of clothes atop Yixing’s head. Yixing just laughs and laughs, and Yifan stares at him for a long while before the tension in his face relaxes into amusement. He smiles back as Yixing helps him organize all his things again.

Just before Yixing leaves to let Yifan catch some rest before his early morning flight, Yifan stops him and says, “You don’t mind if I message you right?”

Yixing chuckles and shakes his head. “Of course not!” he replies, and suddenly remembers what Chanyeol had said the other day. “I’ll be sure to spam you with messages so you don’t have to check your phone all the time.”

Yifan groans, and a light blush dusts his cheeks and Yixing can’t help but find him really cute. “That reminds me I need to murder Chanyeol,” he mutters under his breath and seems to relax when Yixing laughs. He straightens his back and adds, “At least you’ll probably have something interesting to say. I don’t get a lot of messages from people, and Chanyeol only ever sends me pictures of his stupid face.”

“I’ll be sure to do the same, then,” Yixing says. “So you won’t miss me so much.”

“As if I would,” Yifan replies, but something in his eyes gives him away, and there’s this bubbling feeling in Yixing’s chest that he doesn’t know how to explain.

He just smiles, wishes Yifan a good trip, and returns to his own apartment, and in the quietness there, the rapid beating of his heart sounds so impossibly loud.

“You’ve been a moping mess for a whole week,” Lu Han says, “are you that upset because your boyfriend is out of town?”

“I’ve told you, he’s not my boyfriend,” Yixing replies monotonously. Between Lu Han and Jongin, both of whom seem to have decided that Yifan is, without a doubt, Yixing’s new life partner, and dutifully point it out nearly every hour, Yixing has gotten used to easily deflecting it. He’s not sure why he bothers, he should just let them think whatever they like. But the idea of Yifan being anything more than just Yixing’s neighbor - friend? - makes Yixing’s stomach flop around uneasily and so he tries not to think about it.

He leans back against the soft throw pillows on Lu Han’s couch, and takes a sip of the drink Lu Han had offered him after he’d nearly kidnapped Yixing from work and brought him back to his place, insisting that Yixing was going to hang out because he couldn’t mope around forever.

“Do you want him to be, though?” Lu Han asks. He’s sitting on the floor, hugging one of the frilly pillows to chest, legs crossed underneath him, and he looks up at Yixing expectantly, eyelashes fluttering like if he looks innocent enough Yixing will tell him that he’s been harboring a secret crush on Yifan for weeks.

Of course that’s definitely, definitely not true, and Yixing wills the heat that burns in his cheeks away just from the thought. “I thought you already decided he was,” Yixing points out, trying to steer the conversation away from him.

“You know I do that just to bug you,” Lu Han replies, and Yixing mock-glares, reaches out to poke Lu Han in the knee with a socked foot. Lu Han just laughs. “It’s okay if you like him, you know.”

Yixing rolls his eyes and pokes Lu Han again. “Obviously,” he says, like Lu Han is an idiot. “But that’s not how it is, and I don’t think either of us are interested.”

Lu Han hums thoughtfully around the rim of his coffee mug. “Too bad,” he says. “I like him.”

“Then you date him,” Yixing replies, but the second the words leave his mouth he wants to take them back because something about the idea of Lu Han dating Yifan - of Yifan dating anyone - settles unpleasantly into Yixing’s stomach like food poisoning.

Thankfully Lu Han just laughs and teases, “I think he’s more of your type anyway,” and when Yixing pokes him this time, he spills his coffee down his front and it’s enough of a distraction for Yixing to push away the strange thoughts and even stranger feelings.

Yixing finds that the uneasiness disappears when Yifan returns Sunday evening, stopping over at Yixing's apartment after he's dumped his things into his own. He tries not to think about how easily he's affected by Yifan's presence, because he's just glad he's back, curled up awkwardly with his too-big limbs on Yixing's small couch, black-framed glasses pushed up onto his nose. He talks to Yixing about the trip, the little boy in the plane he made friends with, about the long hours at the company, and about the familiarity of Beijing.

Yixing likes the soft, low sound of his voice and the big laughs he makes when Yixing tells him how Jongin and Zitao and Sehun had dragged him out for a snowball fight the other day, and how Baekhyun and Chanyeol had even come by the ice cream shop to say hi, and that Baekhyun had smacked Chanyeol on the head for stealing his phone that Chanyeol had accidentally shoved his ice cream cone into his nose.

"They're always like that," Yifan says.

"They're fun," Yixing says, having thought so when he'd met them during their impromptu soccer match, and was glad to see them again. "It'd be nice to hang out with them another time."

Yifan stares at him for a long, long moment, and Yixing looks back unblinkingly, tilting his head slightly in concern. Yifan laughs, then, and says, “When you stare like that, it’s really funny.” He sounds almost fond, and it makes Yixing’s heart warm.

He just shrugs in reply though, because Lu Han has told him this many times, but Yixing doesn’t really get what’s so funny about it. “Why were you staring at me?” he asks instead, and Yifan licks his lips, looking a little hesitant.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and says, “Well, actually, you can hang out with them again. Sort of. I mean, well,” he pauses, and scratches the side of his face. “Our company is having a Christmas party this weekend, and we’re all allowed to bring a guest with us if we want, and well, I still don’t know many people at this branch so I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” He looks at Yixing hopefully, and Yixing can tell he’s embarrassed, which makes him grin widely because even though he hasn’t known Yifan for very long yet, Yifan rarely ever seems to get embarrassed, running through life on too much confidence and sheer bravado.

Yixing laughs and teases, “Are you trying to ask me out?”

Yifan’s eyes widen for a moment but then the anxiety fades away and he scoffs. “Please,” he says, and Yixing just smiles.

“Why me?” he says. “You’ll have Chanyeol and Jongdae and the others there, won’t you? You don’t really need me to come, too.” He’s not sure why he’s bringing this up, because certainly Yifan knows that, and still decided to invite Yixing anyway, but the words just fall from his mouth before he thinks about them.

“That’s true,” Yifan agrees, “but I’d still like you to come, too. If you want, of course.”

Yixing wants, he really does, and the fact that Yifan had invited him makes his heart swell in his chest with irrepressible happiness he can’t quite explain. But he purses his lips thoughtfully and pretends to really think about it, dragging it on until Yifan looks torn between annoyed and rejected, and then says, “Sure, but you owe me. Stuffy business parties aren’t really my thing.”

Yifan chuckles and nods. “All right then,” he says, and Yixing beams.

"So what, it's like a date?" Jongin asks curiously, looking a little frightfully gleeful and Yixing regrets having told Jongin about Yifan's invitation at all. He hadn't planned to, really, but he also couldn't stop himself from thinking about it, so much so that Jongin had gotten fed up with Yixing spacing out and giving two different customers the wrong orders that he demanded Yixing tell him or he'd dump ice cream down his shirt.

"It's not a date," Yixing says simply, because it's not. And he tells himself he doesn't care that it isn't because he doesn't like Yifan like that, nope. "He just asked me to go with him, that's all." He shrugs, focuses on wiping down a table in the corner where a young boy had spilled Cotton Candy ice cream all over the surface.

"He asked you to a snotty company party," Jongin says. "He wasn't obligated but he did. And you said it was a black tie affair so, really, I don't know what you’re trying to say, it sounds like a date to me.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Yixing replies, smiling, and Jongin childishly sticks out his tongue at him from behind the counter where he’s switching out an empty bucket of ice cream for a new one. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a date anyway,” Yixing says, pushing the chairs around the table back in properly and sweeping up the floor in-between. “I’m happy he invited me at all.”

Jongin _ooohs_ at him teasingly and Yixing pretends to throw a dirty balled up napkin at him. "It sounds like you like him," Jongin says.

"I know what it sounds like," Yixing says, sighing. "But that doesn't mean it's true."

Jongin groans. "Talking to you is impossible. I don't know how your boyfriend does it."

Yixing doesn't even refute it, simply smiling and trying not to think about how the constant reference of Yifan as his boyfriend is now so familiar that Yixing realizes the idea doesn’t exactly sounds all that bad.

Yixing has seen Yifan in a suit and tie before but the way the the tailored black fabric rests across his broad shoulders and the lean, long lines of his legs makes him look like someone who just walked straight out off the runway. His blonde hair is pushed up a bit from his forehead and he looks, well. He looks really, really good.

And Yixing, who usually doesn’t care much about how he dresses or what people think about it, feels inadequate standing before him in a suit that he hasn’t worn in years. But Yifan stares down at him, eyes intense as they slide up and down the length of his body makes him shiver.

“You look great,” he says, and that’s enough for Yixing.

He laughs and says, “You look better,” and is surprised by the flush that dusts Yifan’s cheeks.

Yifan coughs into his fist and asks, “Ready to go?” Yixing nods excitedly, and follows Yifan out to his car.

The drive is mostly quiet, but it’s comfortable, and Yixing likes that he can just sit there in a contented silence without feeling the need to fill it with small talk. It’s not something he can do with most people; Lu Han always chatters away and pokes fun at Yixing when he spaces out like he does a lot. Yifan doesn’t seem to mind at all, just turns up the volume on the radio and sings under his breath, and it makes Yixing smile as he stares out the window at the snow-covered streets and buildings they pass.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Yifan asks when they arrive, heading into the spacious restaurant event room that was booked for the party. There’s a decorated christmas tree in the corner and garlands lining the tables.

“Why would I be?” Yixing replies, staring around at the room full of people he doesn’t know, and he’s not really all that nervous, but he feels a little out of place already. Everyone there looks just like Yifan, straight-laced with stoic expressions and Yixing keeps close to Yifan’s side as they walk in and look for empty seats.

Yixing’s glad when a few minutes later, they run into Jongdae and Baekhyun, both grinning widely as they usher Yixing and Yifan to a table in the corner by the christmas tree. Baekhyun looks between the two of them and his eyes are gleeful as he says, “I didn’t know Yifan was bringing you!”

“Well, I wasn’t really going to come, but he begged, so,” Yixing replies, smiling back, and Yifan splutters around the glass of water he’s drinking.

“I didn’t _beg_ ,” he protests but neither Baekhyun or Jongdae seem to believe him. He stares down at Yixing and then back to his friends and presses fingers to his temple. “Somehow I’m starting to feel like this was a bad idea, introducing you all.”

Baekhyun cackles and Yixing pats Yifan’s arm gently, which makes Yifan jump a little and pull his arm back. Yixing blinks at him curiously but Yifan just shrugs it off, looking similarly flustered to when Yixing had told him he looked good earlier that evening. He tries not to think about it too much, turning back to Baekhyun who immediately engages him in conversation, and Yixing feels himself relax as he listens.

He’s easily distracted though, interested by all the people that stop by to talk to Yifan, who stands and bows and discusses work-related matters that Yixing doesn’t understand. Jongdae is in deep discussion with someone sitting beside him over a project he seems to be working on, and Baekhyun eventually slips away when he spots Chanyeol walking through the doors, heading over and nearly tackling him, the two of them laughing loudly over the christmas music that’s playing in the room.

Yixing feels unsettled again, crawling anxiously in his stomach, and he shifts awkwardly in his seat, wanting to just pull out his phone and maybe play a game on it, but he doesn’t want to be rude. There are other people in the room who Yixing can tell are probably wives or husbands or friends of employees, who all are quiet like Yixing but seem much more at ease. Maybe they’ve all been to something like this before, maybe they’re all used to it. Unlike Yixing, who hasn’t had the need to wear a suit in years, or been to anything remotely close to a company party in his life.

He’s wondering, now, why he even agreed to come, when a man he hasn’t met before seats himself across from him in Baekhyun’s vacated seat and looks at him with a smile. He introduces himself as Jung Yunho, and Yixing recognizes the name as belonging to Yifan’s boss. He smiles and nods politely and says, “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you from Yifan.”

“I hope it’s good things,” he says, and Yixing nods quickly. “Are you a friend of his?”

“Yes,” Yixing replies. “We’re neighbors.”

“I see,” Yunho replies, looking vaguely interested. He leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. “So, what is it that you do?”

Yixing blinks and that anxiety that he’d pushed away earlier comes back fiercely, gripping onto him relentlessly. He hadn’t really expected to answer such a question, hadn’t considered anyone would pay attention to him other than Yifan and his friends. He feels a little confronted, and uncertain, because where he works and what he does is completely sub par to all of this, this elite environment with people who travel and work with important clients all over the country.

Yixing feels heat in his face as he flounders, trying not to stare at Yunho’s expectant face, and he almost jumps when he feels a familiar warmth settle onto his knee. He looks at Yifan, who is turning toward them with a pleasant smile his face, but Yixing has gotten to know him well enough to notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand is warm on Yixing’s knee, and his thumb traces in circles along the inseam of his slacks and Yixing feels all the anxiety drain from his body.

“He’s a musician,” Yifan says easily, staring right at Yunho, and Yixing thinks he looks a little frightening, with his fake smile and hard eyes. “A really good one, actually. He teaches lessons.”

“I see,” Yunho says, slowly, like he’s struggling to process this information, and Yixing swallows thickly and needs to get away.

He bumps his knee against the table as he stands too quickly, and bows in apology, excusing himself to head out the doors. He needs to get away, he needs some air, anything, but he doesn’t get very far before a strong hand grabs his elbow and Yifan is whispering into his ear, “Come here.”

Yixing lets Yifan drag him off down a small hallway toward the restaurant restrooms, and Yixing presses himself back against the wall and sighs, shoulders slumping.

“What’s wrong?” Yifan asks, and his earlier expression has changed for full concern, his fingers pressing gently into Yixing’s elbow as he steps close and peers down at him.

Yixing can’t look at him, though, because this is embarrassing, and Yixing isn’t one to get easily embarrassed, but the whole situation is getting to him more than he could’ve thought possible and he’s not even sure he knows why. “Nothing, it’s stupid,” he says quietly, staring down at his shoes. Yifan’s standing so close that the tips of his polished black shoes are just centimeters from Yixing’s own.

He hopes that maybe Yifan will drop it, but he doesn’t, only stares at him more persistently, and Yixing takes a deep breath. “I just, when he asked me that question, I...I don’t know, I just realized how different this all is. How different _we_ are, and I--”

“Okay, stop,” Yifan cuts in, “does it look like I care about that?”

Yixing knows that he doesn’t, shaking his head quickly and finally glancing up to meet Yifan’s honest gaze. “I know _you_ don’t,” Yixing says and he reaches out to touch Yifan’s elbow the way Yifan is still holding onto his. “But I just wanted to make a good impression.”

“I don’t care about that, either,” Yifan says. “You could’ve worn those awful maroon jeans of yours and that giant red scarf and I still would’ve brought you along.”

“Really?” Yixing asks, skeptical.

Yifan slides his hand along Yixing’s arm, and it’s nice, and comfortable, and Yixing feels like all that frustration and anxiousness was never bubbling up inside him to begin with. “Really,” Yifan says, and Yixing stares at him for a few long moments, as if deciding whether he’s telling the truth, but then laughs happily and smiles.

Yifan eyes flicker with something like surprise, and he leans away a little and Yixing tries not to think about how that disappoints him. But then Yifan is poking a finger to right cheek and saying, “Your smile. It’s cute. Your dimple is cute.” His eyes don’t leave Yixing’s, and Yixing thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

He chuckles uncertainly because Yifan’s intense gaze is unlike any he’s seen before, definitely not from Yifan, and he feels, suddenly, a little trapped with his back against the wall and Yifan’s tall stature looming above him. But Yifan’s hand rubs softly at his arm again, and his other hand drops from his face to touch his hip and when Yixing licks his lips habitually, Yifan’s eyes follow the swipe of his tongue.

“Yifan?” he says, now slightly concerned, but Yifan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he closes what little distance is left between them with a soft kiss to Yixing’s lips.

For a moment it feels like everything stops, the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, the clattering of forks and knives against dishes, other diners laughing and chatting around them. And then, in the next second, Yifan’s lips move smoothly across Yixing’s, the tip of his tongue pressing along the seam, and the world comes rushing back but Yixing still can’t believe that this is happening.

Just as he feels Yifan start to back away, Yixing lets out a tiny involuntary moan and pulls him right back by yanking on his tie, and he sees Yifan’s eyes fluttering open wide before he closes his own and kisses back. Yifan grips tight at Yixing’s waist and lets out a sigh of what Yixing thinks might be relief, before bringing the kiss in even deeper, and Yixing’s mind spins a little, out of confusion and uncertainty that they should even be doing this. But Yifan’s mouth is slick and warm against his, and his hands on Yixing’s waist are reassuring, and Yixing gives into the feeling and the blooming happiness in his heart that maybe this is something he’s wanted to do for a long time, and just wasn’t sure about.

“Hey, there you are--oh,” a familiar deep voice cuts through Yixing’s thoughts and he pulls away from Yifan so quickly he bangs his head against the wall. Chanyeol is staring at them with a gleeful expression that makes his face a little lopsided, and Yifan seems to be holding back laughter as he gently rubs the back of Yixing’s head.

“Well, it’s time to eat, so, whenever you guys are, you know, ready to join us,” Chanyeol says, grinning widely, and Yifan shoves his shoulder.

“We’ll be right there,” he says and Chanyeol laughs and leaves hurriedly, and Yixing is certain he’s gone off to tell Baekhyun and Jongdae exactly what he’s just witnessed. Yifan turns back to Yixing and says, “Are you okay?”

Yixing nods. “I’m fine,” he replies, reaches up to take Yifan’s hand that’s still in his hair and squeezes gently. His lips still tingle from the kiss, and he almost doesn’t want to go back. But he smiles up at Yifan and says, “Let’s go eat, shall we?”

“Okay,” Yifan says, and, before Yixing can slip around him and head back toward the event room, Yifan tilts up his chin and leans forward to kiss him once again. He pulls back almost as quickly and his eyes are smiling so brightly, and Yixing feels butterflies in his stomach, and a laugh bubbles out of him, big and irrepressible. “Come on,” Yifan says, and leads Yixing back to the party and Yixing follows after feeling much happier than he did when he first arrived, and possibly ever in his life before.

Yixing thinks he really shouldn't be surprised that he's greeted by Jongin and Lu Han's smarmy grins the second he gets into work the next morning.

"You don't work here," he tells Lu Han unnecessarily as he slips his apron around his waist and struggles a bit to tie it off behind him. Jongin stops to help and Yixing narrows his eyes at him over his shoulder. "And you're supposed to be off."

"Kyungsoo needed someone to take his shift for some reason and I said yes," Jongin explains.

"Lucky me," Yixing says and Jongin pokes him hard between his shoulder blades.

Lu Han leans over the counter and says, "So? Are you gonna tell us or do we have to drag it out of you?"

"Tell you what," Yixing says, putting on his blank expression and pretending he has no idea what Lu Han is talking about.

This time Lu Han jabs him in the chest. "Don't do that, we all got a message from Chanyeol yesterday, so we know."

"How do you even--"

"We exchanged numbers that day we played soccer. They're cool, your boyfriend’s friends."

"He's not my boyfriend," Yixing says automatically, only this time he's not as convinced. After last night, well, he's not sure what they are.

"But you kissed," Lu Han points out excitedly and Jongin snickers behind a hand and says, “More like they attacked each other, according to Chanyeol.”

“We did not,” Yixing says, willing the heat to stop rising in his cheeks. “And don’t laugh at me, Jongin, you should be glad I’ve never told anyone about the time I found you and Zitao sucking face in the back room.”

“ _What_?!” Lu Han exclaims, looking positively gleeful at the prospect of new information, while Jongin gapes at Yixing, his expression somewhere crossed between mortified and murderous.

Yixing smiles warmly at him and shrugs. “Oops,” he says and turns away to start setting up the shop for the day.

“ _Oops_?” Jongin repeats, “Zhang Yixing, I’m going to--”

“But wait,” Lu Han cuts in, “isn’t Zitao dating Sehun?”

Yixing stops and looks over at Jongin who, if possible, seems to flush even more, and Yixing almost laughs because he forgets just how easily embarrassed Jongin gets. “It’s complicated,” Jongin mutters, and then looks horrified that he said anything at all and presses his hands to his flaming cheeks.

Lu Han stares at Jongin in amusement and Yixing sighs, wondering why his friends are all perpetually gossiping twelve-year-olds.

“Well, enough about Jongin’s strange love life,” Lu Han says, finally peeling his gaze away from Jongin to turn back to Yixing, who dutifully ignores him. “Let’s talk about yours.”

“Let’s not,” Yixing says. “There’s nothing to say, anyway.”

And, really, there isn’t. The rest of the evening was much better than the start, and Yixing enjoyed a really nice dinner with Yifan and his friends, easily brushing off their occasional jabs at their relationship. Chanyeol only shut up about it when Yifan threatened to tell their boss about the time Chanyeol had fucked a client in his own office. The tips of Chanyeol’s ears had gone bright pink and he’d shut his mouth about the whole thing, and Baekhyun, laughing loudly over the whole thing, turned the conversation over to other things.

When Yifan and Yixing returned to their building, they parted with simple goodnights and nothing more, heading into their own apartments without a glance back. Yifan didn’t bring up the kiss and Yixing didn’t either, even though he wanted to, even though he wanted to do it again, and instead he spent a very long time in bed thinking about it over and over until he fell asleep.

He hasn’t heard from Yifan yet today, but he’s trying not to make a big deal about that. It’s still early, and he’ll have the chance to talk to him about this, whatever it is, later.

At least, that’s what he figures, but when he sends Yifan a short text during his break ( _Last night was really fun! I’m glad you invited me. What’re you up to today?_ ), he doesn’t get a response at all. Yifan’s not exactly glued to his phone the way Zitao is, but he’s always been quick to reply to Yixing’s messages, and when there’s still no answer by the end of Yixing’s shift, five hours later, he’s a little worried.

When Yixing gets home, he stops and knocks on Yifan’s door first, but after the third try and no response, he heads into his own apartment, unease slinking down into the pit of his stomach. He tells himself that Yifan is probably just busy, that maybe something work-related came up and he hasn’t had a chance to look at his phone. Yixing tries not to think about it much, pushing the errant thoughts away as he heads to his one guitar lesson that night, teaching his teenage student how to play his favorite song for an upcoming school event. It keeps his mind off of Yifan, which is really what he needs, focusing on the music as he plays the piece for his student and laughs at the look of mortification on his face as he whines and insists he’ll never be able to play.

“You’ll get there,” he tells him, smiling, setting his guitar aside, and for the next hour he doesn’t think about anything other than the lesson and the way the sounds of the song slowly start to form as his student practices.

He’s making a big deal out of nothing, he convinces himself, and that’s enough.

“You look awful,” Jongin says when Yixing slips into a seat around the table at a small barbecue place for lunch on Thursday.

“Thanks, nice to see you, too, Jongin,” Yixing replies, rolling his eyes as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck. Lu Han splutters beside him as he nearly whips him in the face with it, and Yixing smiles apologetically.

“Well it’s true,” Jongin says, defensive, and beside him even Sehun nods. He’s leaning against Jongin like Jongin is his own personal headrest, but Jongin doesn’t look like he minds.

“I’m fine,” Yixing insists, opening up a menu and hiding behind it.

“You think we can’t tell when you’re lying?” Minseok asks, raising an eyebrow. “Is this about Yifan?”

“What else would it be about?” Jongin says, before Yixing can open his mouth, and he yelps when Yixing kicks him under the table.

“It’s _not_ ,” Yixing insists. “My life doesn’t revolve around him, thanks.”

“But you’ve heard from him, right?” Lu Han asks, and for once, he looks rather concerned than curious. “It’s been three days.”

Yixing shakes his head and takes a sip of his glass of water. “I haven’t,” he says and shrugs. “He’s probably busy. He probably went out of town again.”

“Without telling you?” Jongin questions, raising a brow, and Yixing shrugs again.

“Just forget about it, okay?” he says, and puts on a smile. It feels fake even to him. “I came to have lunch and to make fun of Lu Han’s dumb face, not to get interrogated about a relationship I’m not even in.”

“Hey!” Lu Han exclaims, and he kicks Yixing under the table, which makes Yixing laugh, a real one, and the tension in the air fades away.

Jongin looks like he wants to discuss this more, but their waiter stops by to get their orders and he lets it go, and Yixing is thankful. He’s spent a lot of time the past few days wondering why Yifan has ignored his texts, wondering where he’s gone, and why he didn’t feel the need to tell him, especially considering what happened between them before he disappeared, and the last thing Yixing needs is to talk about it all with his friends. He just wants some time to forget about it, to convince himself that maybe that kiss was just a fluke, just a spur of the moment thing, and it didn’t really mean anything to Yifan the way it’s started to mean something to Yixing.

Yixing wakes Wednesday morning to a message from Yifan on his phone. He stares at the little notification for the longest time, half of him not even interested in what Yifan could possibly have to say, but the other, more persistent half of him so relieved, and so curious that he gives in.

 _I’m sorry for not replying to your messages_ , it reads. _I got called out for work in Tokyo and it’s been really busy. I’m really sorry. But I’m heading back tonight, and I want to see you. I...I think we have to talk._

Yixing reads and rereads the message until he’s got it memorized, and in the end he replies, _Sure. Come over when you get back._

Then he pulls himself out of bed and gets ready for work, and tries to ignore the heavy weight of anticipation that settles like a brick in his stomach.

It isn’t until late in the evening, a few hours after Yixing returns home from the ice cream shop, that Yifan finally returns. He can hear him out in the hall as he sits on the couch, alternating between poking his way around a small pint of mint chocolate ice cream, and picking up his guitar, aimlessly working on that song that’s been lingering in the back of his mind, the one that he’d played out on the balcony while Yifan had watched. The television plays a rerun of an old drama that Yixing’s left on for background noise, his mind focused elsewhere. He could go up and catch Yifan himself, demand some answers, but instead he just waits. It’s Yifan who almost disappeared, ignoring Yixing’s calls and messages and acting like nothing had happened. It’s Yifan who should come to him.

And he does. A part of Yixing thought that maybe Yifan would forget, would just go back to his apartment and never show up, but about ten minutes later there’s a knock at Yixing’s door and Yifan is standing beyond the threshold when he gets up to answer it.

“Hi,” Yifan says, and he looks exhausted, his hair a little matted against his head, probably from under a hat to fend off the cold, and there are dark circles of tiredness under his eyes.

Yixing feels his concern slowly ebb away all his previous worries, and he ushers Yifan into the apartment, and heads to the kitchen to put on some tea. Yifan leans against the counter and Yixing can feel his eyes on him as he moves around the kitchen. He puts the kettle on the stove and opens the cupboard to the left to grab two mugs. He sets them down onto the counter by the stove and turns to the fridge, wondering if maybe there are some snacks or something he could bring out, when Yifan catches his rest and tugs gently, until Yixing is stumbling into his chest. He looks up quickly, eyes wide, and Yifan is staring at him much like the way he had that night at the party, leaning in close to Yixing as he was pressed up against the wall, and this moment feels incredibly similar but Yifan’s not going to kiss him again, is he?

He does, stealing Yixing’s breath as he closes the distance between them and presses slightly chapped lips against Yixing’s softer owns, sucking softly on the curve of his lower lip until Yixing is relaxed enough that he can slip his tongue into his mouth. Yixing’s mind spins and he clutches onto the front of Yifan’s t-shirt, and Yifan’s arms wrap around his back, and oh god, Yixing didn’t realize he wanted this to happen again so much until now.

“I’ve been wanting to do that the entire time I was gone,” Yifan admits when he pulls back, gasping as his chest heaves against Yixing’s. He rubs a thumb across Yixing’s cheekbone, fingers sliding into his hair, and Yixing feels simultaneously more confused than ever before and so happy he thinks his heart might just burst.

“But, I thought, after what happened, and you ignoring my calls...” Yixing says, uncertain, and Yifan shakes his head quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I just...I wasn’t sure if I should’ve even done that, kissing you that night. I didn't want to ruin anything.” He looks at Yixing sadly, and Yixing wonders if he’d been driving himself mad the past few days thinking about this the way Yixing had fell into a terrible pit of uncertainty over whether he’d done something wrong.

“I kissed you back,” Yixing says softly, and he pulls on the fabric of Yifan’s shirt even more, curling in between his fingers as he steps even closer. “I kissed you back now, too.”

“You did,” Yifan sighs, and he looks relieved, like he can’t believe this is really happening. Yixing quite can’t either.

“It surprised me, the first time,” he admits. “But...but I liked it. I really liked it. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” He feels his face heat up a little as he rambles, and he stares at the collar of Yifan’s shirt instead of at his face. “And, well, I like _you_.”

Yifan stares at him unblinkingly for what feels like eternity, but then his face breaks out into that big, gummy grin of his that Yixing absolutely adores and he’s tugging Yixing in even closer with hands on his hips like he’s trying to mold their bodies into one and laughs against his mouth, “I like you, too.” His laugh grows a little incredulous and his fingers dig into Yixing’s skin. “I like you, too.”

Yixing feels laughter bubbling in his chest, too, and he presses up to kiss Yifan again when the kettle on the stove whistles and startles them both, Yixing jumping back so suddenly he steps on Yifan’s toes. Yifan just laughs louder, bringing a hand up to hide his mouth, and Yixing rubs the back of his neck as he turns to fill their mugs.

Yixing hands Yifan one, their fingers brushing against each other as Yifan takes it with a silent nod. His eyes are on Yixing, though, and his gaze is almost fond as Yixing busies himself with softly blowing onto his tea to cool it down before taking a small sip.

“I really am sorry,” Yifan says, a few moments later, and he’s rubbing a finger along the rim of the mug. “I shouldn’t have ignored your messages. I just...I just didn’t know what to say.”

“I thought I’d done something wrong,” Yixing says, and Yifan winces. “I thought, maybe, I’d read the signs wrong--”

“You didn’t,” Yifan cuts in quickly. “It was just me being stupid. I’m sorry.”

Yixing takes another sip of his drink, as Yifan stares at him solemnly, and then slowly smiles. “I guess I can forgive you,” he says lightly. “You just can’t help your own stupidity sometimes.”

“Hey,” Yifan says, feigning hurt, and Yixing smiles warmly and surprises him with a quick kiss.

Yifan tries to pull him in for more but Yixing steps away and heads out of the kitchen toward the couch. “Want to watch a movie or something?” he asks, setting his mug onto the coffee table and looking over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Yifan says with that affectionate smile, and Yixing feels lighter than he ever has before.

“Are you going back home for Christmas?” Yifan asks Yixing, leaning over onto the front counter at the ice cream shop as Yixing counts up the money in the cash drawer for the night.

Yixing shakes his head. “No,” he says, trying not to feel too sad about it. “I’ll be here.”

Yifan smiles at him. “So will I,” he says. “We should...” He pauses and clears his throat, and looks down at his gloved fingers. Yixing pauses in slipping bills into an envelope to put in the safe in the back and stares at him, and Yifan seems to notice his gaze, cheeks growing a little pink. “We should do something, together,” he says, finally, and quickly glances up at Yixing hopefully.

Yixing blinks. He stuffs the bills into the envelope and shuts the register, and Yifan watches him anxiously, until Yixing grins, resting his elbows onto the counter to lean forward toward Yifan. “I’d like that,” he says, and laughs when Yifan lets out a relieved breath.

“Don’t do that,” he says, and it sounds like a whine, which makes Yixing laugh louder until Yifan tugs at his collar and kisses him over the counter. Yixing’s smile grows as he returns it, and it’s only been a few days since Yifan had come by and they’d ended up cuddling on Yixing’s couch and exchanging more kisses instead of watching the movie he’s put in, but Yixing feels like he’s been doing this forever, the press and slide of his lips against Yifan’s nothing short of perfect.

“You know, I’m really glad you two finally made it to this point, but can you leave it for when I’m not around?” Jongin’s voice cuts through Yixing’s thoughts and he pulls away reluctantly while Yifan quickly straightens up, pulling on the ends of his suit jacket and coughing behind a hand.

Yixing turns to Jongin who is resting his chin upon the end of the broomstick with a giant, amused smirk on his face. “Go home, Jongin,” he says, and Jongin cackles.

“You guys are cute,” he coos at them, and Yixing thinks that for all Jongin tries to act like he doesn’t care, he is actually happy about this turn of events. “I’m glad I don’t have to see you moping anymore, at least.”

“Get out of here,” Yixing says, narrowing his eyes at Jongin as he feels Yifan look over at him worriedly. Jongin salutes him with two fingers and returns the broom to the storage closet before bundling up in a blue peacoat and fluffy hat, tugging the ear flaps down over his ears. He waves goodbye and Yixing smiles after him before turning back to Yifan. “I’m almost done here, and then we can go.”

Yifan waves his hand dismissively. “That’s fine,” he says, and he pulls out his phone to check messages while Yixing puts the money away in the back and sweeps up behind the counter. He slips into his coat as he walks around the front to join Yifan, who takes his red scarf and winds it around Yixing’s neck, smirking as it covers up half his face, and Yixing swats at his arm as he fixes it so he can speak without swallowing a mouthful of yarn.

He blinks at the sudden intense gaze in Yifan’s eyes, and says as they head outside and he locks up behind them,“What’s up?”

Yifan shakes out of his thoughts and he sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets and and says, “I just, what Jongin said earlier, about you--”

“Ah, the moping?” Yixing says and Yifan nods. “He’s a liar, you don’t have to listen to anything he says.” He kicks at a patch of snow on the ground with his boot.

“Oh really?” Yifan questions, raising a brow.

“Really,” Yixing insists, trying to keep his face serious, but a smile tugs at his lips when he looks at Yifan’s amused gaze. “Don’t worry about that,” he adds with a shrug. “Everything is good, now, anyway.” He turns away, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them to warm them up.

Yifan reaches out and grabs his left hand, and Yixing’s eyes widen as he pushes his hand into his own pocket, linking their fingers inside the heat of his coat. Yifan stares steadily ahead, away from Yixing’s inquiring eyes, and says, “You really need to buy gloves.”

Yixing grins widely and squeezes Yifan’s hand. “I like this better,” he says and laughs at the way Yifan flushes.

“Hey,” Yixing says, grinning widely as he lets Yifan into the apartment.

Yifan smiles back, eyes bright behind black-rimmed glasses, and he’s holding a small brown gift bag that he won’t let Yixing take. Instead, he unwinds his blue scarf from around his neck and shucks out of his coat and hands them over, and Yixing puts them away in the hall closet and jumps, startled, when Yifan catches him in a quick kiss right after.

Yixing laughs and returns it, arms winding up behind Yifan’s neck. Yifan pulls back a few moments later and says, “Sorry I’m late. I got called into the office this morning and needed to help out with something.”

“On Christmas?” Yixing says, eyebrows raised. “Workaholic.” He pokes Yifan in the chest and then takes his hand, leads them out from the doorway and into the apartment.

“Apparently I was the only one available,” Yifan says with a sigh. He stops in his tracks when he follows Yixing into the living room and his eyes widen. “Wow,” he says, taking in the small-sized Christmas tree in the corner, complete with decorations. There’s tinsel hanging across the windows and around the coffee table, and candles flickering atop the bookshelf.

“I was bored,” Yixing says, with a shrug, amused by Yifan’s expression. “Besides, it’s Christmas! We have to be a little festive.”

“It looks great,” Yifan says, and his earnestness makes Yixing’s heart warm. “Better than anything I would’ve done on my own.”

Yixing beams at him. He claps his hands together and says, “So, come on, sit down!” He pushes Yifan toward the couch. “I made dinner for us but I think it may have burned so I can’t guarantee the taste anymore and--”

“Yixing,” Yifan says, cutting across him as he grabs Yixing’s elbow and tugs him down to the couch. Yixing ends up mostly sprawled across his lap which makes heat burn in his cheeks instantly, but Yifan doesn’t seem concerned, a big hand pressing up against the side of his face. “Relax,” he breathes, and he leans forward and closes the space between them in a soft kiss.

Yixing murmurs, “Okay,” against his lips and kisses back, because yes, he can definitely do this, too. He slips his fingers into Yifan’s hair, turns a bit until he’s properly straddling Yifan, insides of his thighs rubbing against Yifan’s as he settles down against him. Yifan wraps an arm around his waist, pulls him close, closer than close, until Yixing can almost feel his heart beat in sync with his.

He sighs against Yifan’s lips as Yifan’s fingers slip up under his shirt, pressing along the bumps and curve of his spine and dragging the fabric up with him until it’s bunching at Yixing’s neck. Yixing’s heart beats loudly in his ears and he raises his arms over his head, breaking their kiss long enough for Yifan to slide his shirt off. Yifan’s eyes are searching as Yixing rubs his hands down Yifan’s shoulders, silently asking if this is okay, and Yixing doesn’t think he can even express just how okay it is.

“You’re not thinking about stopping, are you?” Yixing asks, shuddering as Yifan’s hands roam over his bare skin, knuckles bumping against nipples.

“I don’t think I can,” Yifan admits, and Yixing lets out a shaky laugh.

“Good,” he says and their kiss this time is much harder, fiercer, teeth bumping together a little painfully, but lips smooth and wet, tongues slick as they tangle together. Yixing ruts his hips down against Yifan and he feels his hardness against his own, a delicious, burning friction through the roughness of their jeans. Yixing moans softly which makes Yifan dig his fingernails into his skin and hold him steady as he grinds up.

Yixing shivers at when Yifan groans, the low sound tumbling pleasantly down his back, and holds on tight to the front of Yifan's buttoned white shirt, that a few buttons have popped open from their efforts, revealing soft pale skin. Yixing drags his lips down along from Yifan's mouth to his neck, suckling gently at the sweat-slicked skin and his arousal grows with every tiny gasp that escapes Yifan's lips.

When Yifan undoes his jeans, Yixing swallows thickly and kisses him again, hips canting upward into his fist as it wraps around his erection. And everything seems to overwhelm him at that moment, Yifan's hot breath on his lips, the blunt pressure of his fingernails in his waist, the firmness of his strokes along his cock, and the realization that yes, this is happening, hits Yixing hard. And he moans out Yifan's name as he comes, rocking his hips instinctively as he comes over Yifan's fingers.

"Fuck," Yifan hisses, teeth catching on Yixing's bottom lip as he jerks against Yixing's hip, and Yixing quickly slides off of him onto the floor to help him out, tugging jeans down his thighs and jacking him off in just a few quick strokes.

Yifan's shoulders tense for a moment before his whole body seems to collapse, boneless, against the back of the couch, eyelashes fluttering as he catches his breath. Yixing just laughs, irrepressible, as he climbs back onto the couch and kisses him messily, more tongue and heavy, sated breaths than anything else.

“Well,” Yifan says, his eyes soft as he rubs a thumb along Yixing’s jaw, “this is already shaping up to be a better Christmas than last year.”

Yixing knows the feeling. He fastens up his jeans and stands, and pulls at Yifan’s arm. “Come on,” he says, “let’s clean up and eat. I’m starving.” He grins. “And afterward you can give me my present.” He eyes the brown bag that had fallen off the couch and onto the floor, a wrapped gift peeking out from the top, and laughs at Yifan’s scowl.

Later, after they’ve eaten and watched a terrible holiday special on TV, and Yixing’s ripped open his present excitedly in a way that makes Yifan call him a child, looking on in a mix of affection and apprehension. He finds a pair of soft gloves that match the red of the scarf Yixing always wears, and Yixing laughs, teases, “But I think your pocket is warm enough,” which makes Yifan flush cutely, until he pokes Yixing in the forehead and questions, “Where’s _my_ gift?”

And Yixing, grinning, climbs off the couch to grab his guitar, and he worries his lower lip between his teeth as he fiddles with tuning it, murmuring, “It’s not anything special, but it’s that song you wanted to hear,” before he plays, and he keeps his focus on the chords and the pressure of the strings hard against his fingertips, and not the weight of Yifan’s soft, attentive gaze that burns slow like candlelight in the pit of his belly.

Later, after all of that, after Yifan kisses him warmly when the final notes of his song fades away, and he breathes, “Thank you,” against his lips and Yixing laughs at him for getting too sentimental, they curl up together under the quilted blanket Yixing’s grandmother had given him for Christmas three years ago. Yixing tucks his feet under himself and breathes in the smell of cocoa from the mug of steaming hot chocolate warm in his hands. And beside him Yifan is stretched out with his long legs under the coffee table, his shoulder pressed warm against Yixing’s, and a smile on his face that lights up Yixing's heart.

Yifan finds his hand under the blanket, threads their fingers together, soft and reassuring, and Yixing smiles around the rim of his mug as Yifan leans into his ear to say, “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
